Learn What is in Front of You
For a long time, our aikido class has consisted primarily of three yudansha (black-belt level) practitioners and a sometimes-attending yonkyu (green-belt - the first one you get in our organization). This sparse class has worked well for me, because I have been able to spend inordinate amounts of time getting my hands on my teacher. I do very much enjoy doing that, because he is very skillful, and requires me to use every little bit of faculty and focus that I have. Most enjoyable for me are those times when we're going full out, balls-to-the-wall. No holding back. Fists fly at my face and throat. Kicks to my everywhere. In that frantic swirl, I feel profoundly alive. I have my limits tested, and I enjoy it.
Somehow, in a month (after multiple years of just the four of us) acquired three white belts. Three. Now, it has been quite a long time since I taught anyone the basics. I've been focusing pretty exclusively on higher-level stuff for the past year. When these three came along, my first thought (if I am to be profoundly honest - which I aspire to be) was, "Damn it... I don't want to teach anyone. I just want to work on my stuff."
Not charitable, I know, but I never claimed to be perfect.
A couple years ago, I really felt a strong drive to teach. Ironically, this was when my technique was a lot worse than it is now. Looking at it in retrospect, I think much of that desire was based on hiding. Here's what I mean by that-- if you're teaching, you are in the position of knowledge. You are not on the spot as much. You are not the one having your deficiencies revealed as often.
I've stopped hiding over the past few years, so I really don't have that desire to teach as a hiding mechanism. Also, as I observe my own teacher and how he teaches, I've come to appreciate how enormous a responsibility it is to teach. I also understand how much effort is involved in transmitting this art.
And I'll be honest, I retreated from that challenge with these new white belts. I felt emotionally and physically worn out in my own life, and I didn't want to help "carry" anyone else. I worked with them, but that "spark" wasn't there. I did not connect with them emotionally. I simply showed them the basic kata in our curriculum in a very antiseptic way, as if to say, "This is what we do. Come and get it if you want it. If you can't appreciate the value in it... not really my problem."
Then, the other day, I had a conversation with one of my teachers whom I hadn't spoken to in quite some time. He's an older Japanese gentleman, and truly one of the most remarkable human beings I've ever met. I told him about my situation. I'll try to reproduce what he said into English as best I can, because I feel like it is very powerful.
"Pat, everyone is going to eventually meet an opponent they cannot defeat. For some of us, it'll be cancer. For others, heart problems. Some of us will die in traffic accidents. But no matter how good our technique is, eventually something will defeat us and kill us. So why train at all, other than to polish our spirits and practice the way? The level of skill isn't that important... it's just the excuse to keep doing it."
To quote the venerable Keanu Reeves, "Whoa."
Talk about a splash of water in my face. His comment made me realize that for a while now, I really haven't been practicing aikido as a way of life. I have been technically improving, but if my spirit was getting polished, too, I wouldn't have shied away from teaching white-belts. Wanting only to improve my own stuff is a selfish behavior. I thought about what he said, and another conversation we'd had a few years ago popped into my head.
After some fairly extensive training, I asked him how I could ever repay him for what he taught me.
His answer?
"You can't. The only way to come close to repaying the obligation you've incurred is to do for others what I've done for you. If you never give this to anyone else, you will inevitably end up practicing alone."
And he is right. Exactly right.
The prologue to this whole tale is that I had an entirely different mindset when I came into the dojo last night. I got on the mat, went straight to the white-belts, and worked with them for the entire class. I made an emotional connection with them, remembering things from my own time as a beginner. I remembered how awkward it was to put my hand in someone's face and put them on their ass. I remembered how alien the movements of the kata seemed when I first learned them. I shared this with our beginners and assured them that it was totally OK to do it wrong, and to look bad doing it.
Everyone looks bad when they first start.
Instead of viewing teaching them as a tedious chore, I viewed it as an opportunity to uplift other human beings.
And you know what? I came out of the dojo last night feeling better than I had in a long time. I felt like I'd remembered something that I'd forgotten. I felt like I was practicing the way again, and it was a good feeling.
Which brings me to the lesson of this whole little thing. Study the thing in front of you. In this world, you don't always get to call the shots as to what you'll be learning on any given day. Often, the universe puts something in front of you and sees if you have the wits to learn the lessons it contains. Often, I do not. But every now and then, with the guidance of people a lot wiser than me, I do.
Makes life a lot easier, and a little more sublime.
- Ken